


Five Pieces of Furniture

by sjhw_tolerance (mscorkill)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mscorkill/pseuds/sjhw_tolerance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Jack's relationship evolves over a year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Pieces of Furniture

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Stages of Love: Five Pieces of Furniture; originally posted June 2008.

Five Pieces of Furniture: chair, table, couch, desk and bed

Chair

Somebody’s Sitting in my Chair

Jack walked down the corridor leading to the briefing room, nodding at the greetings from the various personnel he passed. Everyone it seemed, from Siler to the guy with the mop bucket, were all smiling, nay, even grinning. Normally, it would have unnerved Jack to be surrounded by so many happy base personnel, but it was understandable. Anubis had been defeated, the Earth saved—by him, once again—the Stargate was back in her usual position. All right, not their usual Stargate. Actually, Jack could never really keep track of which Stargate currently reigned supreme at the SGC but he was fairly certain this was the last reserve ‘gate to which they had access. 

But none of that really mattered to him, because even if he didn’t show it as outwardly as the rest of the base, he was pretty happy this morning as well. SG1 was back on full duty—without any Russian on the team—and they were finally being sent out on a mission. Jack could actually say that he was even looking forward to the morning briefing. 

“Morning, Colonel.” 

Jack nodded at Walter, who slipped through the open doorway ahead of him; Jack followed the sergeant into the briefing room, ready to get on with life as usual. Walter started passing out the folders he held in his arms, leaving one at the head of the table where Hammond would sit. Jack’s eyes traveled around the table, quickly noting that his team was already present. And then he frowned. His eyes narrowed and he studied each occupant of the table. Teal’c sat in his usual position, to the left of Hammond, two chairs down, the empty chair where Daniel traditionally sat empty. On the other side of the table, to Hammond’s right, Sam sat, two chairs down, in her usual position. And sitting in the chair immediately to Hammond’s right and next to Sam—in his chair—was Jonas.

Jack always sat there, next to Sam, well except for when he didn’t. But it was definitely his chair and Jonas was sitting in it. Jack cleared his throat. Sam looked up and smiled, as did Jonas. Well, Jonas grinned more than smiled. Jack looked at Sam again and raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly towards Jonas. She looked confused for a moment, but then her eyes filled with comprehension and she gave a slight shrug. Jack opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Hammond strode into the room and seeing no other recourse, Jack quickly slipped into the chair next to Teal’c.

“All right, people,” Hammond said, opening his manila folder. “The latest MALP telemetry from 3PR-774 is promising.”

Sam jumped in then. “Yes, the latest analysis shows large deposits of naquadah just fifty klicks from the ‘gate.”

“And no evidence of Goa’uld activity,” Teal’c commented. “Very interesting indeed.”

Jack tried to pay attention to the conversation swirling around him, but he just couldn’t get comfortable. There was something wrong with the chair, it felt like the springs were poking him in the butt and when he tried to roll it, it felt lopsided, one of the wheels was flat or off-center. Jack’s eyes narrowed. Jonas, on the other hand, looked entirely too comfortable in his chair…next to Sam….

“Colonel?”

Startled, Jack wobbled dangerously in his faulty chair, earning a frown from Hammond. “Sorry, sir. Ah…you were saying?”

“SG1 will ship out tomorrow at 0900. Make sure your team is ready.”

“Yes, sir!” His chair squeaking ominously, Jack scrambled to his feet, along with the rest of his team, when Hammond stood and returned to his office. Sam gave him another curious look from across the table and this time he just shrugged and headed towards the door. 

He was almost out the door when he heard Jonas ask. “What’s wrong with Colonel O’Neill?”

Jack paused for a moment, just outside the doorway, when Sam’s softer reply drifted out to him. “I’m not sure, Jonas.”

He could however, hear Teal’c quite clearly. “I believe there was something wrong with his chair, Jonas Quinn.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“He was sitting in my chair!”

Sam looked up, Jack’s face a blurry image through the magnifying loops she had on. Slipping them off, she carefully set them aside and tucked the delicate piece of alien technology she’d been working on back in its storage container. She had discovered the hard way what happened if she left delicate technology, well really any technology, lying around whenever Jack was in her lab.

“Sir?”

Jack started circling her workbench and she turned slowly on her stool, following his movements. “Jonas. He was sitting in my chair.”

“Your chair?” 

“Yes,” he said, favoring her with a mild glare. “I always sit next to you.”

“Ah.” She thought she understood now. The familiarity of routine provided comfort in the face of all the changes of the past few months since Daniel’s death, not to mention the trauma—and drama, she acknowledged wryly—in finding a new fourth for the team. “Change is hard,” she commented.

“Change?” Jack stopped right in front of her, bending down until they were almost nose to nose, his arms stretched out on either side of her, his hands resting on the table behind her and effectively trapping her. “You think this is about change? About everything we’ve gone through lately?”

Sam nodded slowly, impressed and slightly amazed with his insight. “Isn’t it?”

Jack smiled slowly in that way that always made her insides turn to mush. “You know, for someone so smart….” He murmured, lowering his head even more, until they were practically nose to nose. “My place is next to you.”

He didn’t move and warmth curled through her at the look in his dark brown eyes. Her eyes fluttered close and she waited expectantly, feeling his breath warm upon her cheek. 

“Tell Jonas that’s my chair, will you?” 

Sam’s eyes flew open when he pushed himself away, leaving her weak-kneed and off-balance. “Yes, Jack,” she murmured. And she couldn’t help but smile herself when he grinned and sauntered out of her lab. His chair indeed….

THE END

Table

Table for Four

It was tradition and the older Sam got—and the more things changed—the harder she clung to tradition. They’d had this particular custom for almost five years and it survived through illness, brainwashing and even death, the tradition incorporating Jonas when he became a member of SG1. It was one of those unspoken traditions that everyone on base knew and honored. There wasn’t a sign or anything on it, but all base personnel knew that if SG1 was home, that it was for them, no matter the time of day or night.

It was currently night. The evening kitchen staff was long gone, the cleaning crew had mopped and scrubbed, the lights were low and she was alone. A few daring souls had ventured in for coffee, or one of the other various beverages provided, and one of the packaged sandwiches or plastic-wrapped pieces of cake and pie left out for the overnight personnel. But none of them had lingered beyond a brief nod of acknowledgement before they beat a hasty retreat, leaving her to her coffee and chocolate cake.

Sam wouldn’t ever say that her team mates were psychic, so when Teal’c, and then Jonas, appeared in the dining hall, she didn’t bat an eye. She suspected Teal’c knew her habits—and her moods—far too well and Jonas, well, he was too perceptive for his own good. 

“Major Carter.” Teal’c sat down at the table, laden with chocolate cake, a slice of apple pie, and a container of orange juice 

“Teal’c, you’re up late.” She pushed what was left of her chocolate cake around with her fork.

“As are you,” he countered. Plastic wrap disappeared, along with half of the chocolate cake. 

Jonas made two trips to table, the first to bring her a fresh cup of coffee and presumably one for himself, the second with another piece of cake for Teal’c and a slice of apple pie for himself. “Thanks, Jonas,” she said absently, wrapping fingers that couldn’t seem to warm up around the fresh mug of coffee.

“Thought you might be here,” Jonas replied amiably, taking the third seat the table and digging into his apple pie.

Her hands tightened around the mug and almost against her will, her eyes drifted to the empty place at their table. That sick feeling that had been twisting her gut for the last few weeks should be disappearing, she thought frantically. She could stop worrying, the Colonel was back, all traces of the infection gone…all traces of the symbiote gone. But the price had been more than she ever dreamed.

“He’ll be all right.”

“Hmm?” Sam murmured, pulled from her thoughts by Jonas’ voice.

“Colonel O’Neill,” he said, gesturing with his fork towards the place where Jack usually sat. “Doctor Fraiser said—”

“I know what Janet said,” she interrupted swiftly. The brief look of confusion and hurt on Jonas’ face had her forcing an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Jonas.” She shook her head, not sure why instead of diminishing with his safe return, her guilt merely seemed to increase.

“O’Neill is strong,” Teal’c stated. He looked up from his empty plates, his gaze level. “You have no cause to blame yourself for events you could not control.”

The guilt crawling in her gut swelled until she felt nauseous and she was sure what little color she had drained out of her face. He was only partially right. It wasn’t her fault Kanan had betrayed Jack…it was only her fault that he had agreed to the blending.

“Maybe,” was all she said, staring down at the crumbly remains of her cake and refusing to meet his all too perceptive eyes.

“Sam,” Jonas said urgently, “surely you don’t believe—” 

“Hey!” A slightly husky voice said from across the room. “Can anyone join this party?”

Sam’s eyes flew up and hope began to mix queasily with the guilt. Jack stood in the doorway and all she could do was stare as Teal’c casually rose and crossed the room, escorting O’Neill to their table. Sam studied him surreptitiously; he was dressed in a blue robe over the white, standard issue pajamas. Against the dark color of the robe he looked pale; his skin still bearing the pallor from either his illness or his imprisonment at Ba’al’s fortress. Jack pushed his IV pole—or clung to it, Sam couldn’t really decide—his gait somewhat slow, but with Teal’c at his side, he navigated to the table under his own power and Sam wondered how he’d made it out of the infirmary.

“Colonel O’Neil!” Jonas exclaimed, a smile lighting his face. Jumping up, he went over to the counter, returning with more cake and a carton of milk, just as Jack and Teal’c completed their journey across the dining hall.

Teal’c pulled out O’Neill’s chair and he sat down with a soft sigh. “Thanks, Jonas,” he murmured, when the younger man set the cake and milk, along with a fork and napkin, down in front of him.

“Are you sure you should be out of bed, sir?” Sam asked. As good as it was to see him out of the infirmary, she couldn’t help but be concerned he was pushing himself too soon, too fast.

O’Neill shrugged, slowly unwrapping the cake, the IV running into the back of his hand a vivid reminder that he still suffered from the after-affects of his time with Ba’al. Jack didn’t answer right away and she waited until he’d taken a small bite of the cake before she asked, “Does anyone know you’re here?”

“If by anyone you mean Matthews,” Jack said, referring to the corpsman currently on the night shift, “then yeah, he knows.” He slanted her a slight smile. “He doesn’t approve, but he knows.”

Jack went back to eating his cake and Sam didn’t ask anymore questions, letting Jonas talk, carrying on a mostly one-sided conversation in that easygoing, eager way of his, relating excerpts from their recent run-in with the NID in Steveston. Teal’c tossed in the occasional comment and Sam kept quiet, after all that had transpired over the past few weeks, the enormity of Jack’s presence back with them swept over her in a wave of profound relief. 

“So you’re telling me Carter actually slapped you?” Jack looked at her and she nodded, meeting his eyes briefly, confused by the warmth she saw in their dark depths. “Well,” he said, “at least she didn’t bite you.”

“Now, that sounds like an interesting story,” Jonas said.

Teal’c chose that moment to yawn—simultaneously pushing his chair back and stacking the empty plates on the table. “The soporific effects of this late night snack appear to be working.” He looked directly at Jonas and Sam wasn’t fooled for a minute. “Would you not agree, Jonas Quinn?”

“Ah, right,” Jonas replied, immediately standing up and helping Teal’c clear the table until all that remained was her cup of coffee.

They both watched as the Teal’c and Jonas finished bussing the table and then left the room. Part of her wanted to make an escape along with them; and she really couldn’t just leave Jack alone in the dining hall. But mostly she was forced to acknowledge she was hungry for the sight of him and she wouldn’t give up this time alone with him.

“Sounds like you had a fun time while I was gone.”

Her eyes flew to Jack at his comment. His tone was casual and she couldn’t tell if there was more behind his comment than just a general observation—or an attempt to fill the silence now that Teal’c and Jonas were gone. “Yeah,” she said without thinking, “nothing like getting taken over by a goa’uld.”

If she thought the silence was deafening before, it almost overwhelmed now. The brief look of disbelief that flashed across Jack’s face was quickly replaced with an almost wry half-smile. “Well, I guess that’s something else we both have in common now.”

For a moment she didn’t know what he meant and then she remembered…for him, it had been Hathor’s goa’uld and then the Tok’ra symbiote; for her, Jolinar and the cloned symbiote. She smiled weakly. “Yeah, I guess so.”

They fell quiet again, the only sounds the whir of his IV machine while it pumped fluid into his body and the occasional sound of distant footsteps from the hallway. She took a sip of her cold coffee and finally blurted out, “Sir…Jack.” She set her mug down and looked at him, her hand reaching for his, her fingers closing around his where it rested on the table, the IV tubing pressing into her palm. “I never meant—”

“Hey, Carter,” he interrupted, his voice gentle; his hand turning under hers until he could grasp her hand. “It’s okay.”

“How can it be okay?” she asked, not bothering to conceal her bewilderment. She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it with surprising strength. “We almost lost you.”

Jack’s thumb rubbed softly over the back of her hand. “It was my decision.”

“Was it?” she whispered, feeling close to tears at the tender look in his eyes.

That gentle smile again. “Sam, I’m not going to blame you for what happened.” His expression grew hard for a brief moment. “That bastard Kanan is the only one I hold responsible.” His face cleared and he smiled again, squeezing her hand briefly before slowly standing and steadying himself with the IV pole. “Walk me back to my room?”

“Sure,” she agreed. The churning in her gut had subsided to a sporadic swell and when he took her arm, she felt most of it drain away. She’d been worried that the fragile threads of their relationship had been irrevocably tangled, if not severed, by what had happened. Falling into step with him, she leaned closer; it seemed she’d underestimated the strength of those threads.

The End

 

Couch

That’s What Friends are For

“You can’t be serious?” 

The tone of Sam’s voice caught Jack’s attention and he paused outside her open lab door, peering curiously inside. She paced the area behind her worktable—it was as far as she could move, given the length of the phone cord—distractedly running her free hand through her short hair. Jack thought it gave her a rather sexily rumpled look, which unfortunately, was ruined by the aggravated expression on her face. He’d seen that look before and was thankful it wasn’t directed at him this time.

“You’re absolutely positive there are no other delivery times before next month?”

She hadn’t seen him yet so Jack took a couple cautious steps into the room, trying to look casual as he eavesdropped. 

“All right well…then I guess it’ll have to wait. Let me get my calendar.” Sam set the receiver down and that’s when she must’ve realized he was in the room, because her eyes met his and for a moment that look of annoyance was directed at him. But other than a brief frown, she ignored him and pawed through the mass of papers and file folders on her desk.

“What’s up?” he asked, stepping closer when she started flipping through the pages of her organizer.

“It’s nothing.”

“Well, it must be something, Carter.”

She flipped through several more pages before looking up and glaring mildly at him. “I ordered some new furniture a couple of months ago and the only day they can deliver it is this coming Friday, when I have to be at the Pentagon.”

Ah, now he knew why she was so annoyed. All they—the ‘they’ being him, Teal’c and Jonas—had heard about for weeks was her upcoming and incredibly hard to get, been on the waiting list for six months, appointment to use the latest, new super-secret artificial intelligence next generation super computer at the Pentagon. Evidently neither the SGC nor NORAD, with all their super computers had anything even close to this one and, at least according to Carter and the dozen or so other computer geeks involved in upgrading the gate’s dialing and diagnostic programs, all of whom swore they needed to run everything through said super computer before they could finish the upgrades.

“I can take the delivery for you.” The words were out of his mouth before his brain could come up with a dozen or so reasons why offering to help her was such a bad idea, and given the surprised look on her face, she was equally taken off-guard.

“Well…ah….” she stammered, clutching the receiver in one hand and her date book in the other. Jack watched with interest at the dozen or so emotions that played over her face, starting with downright disbelief and finally ending with an uneasy look of hope. “If you’re sure it won’t be too much of an inconvenience.”

Jack was sure there was nothing more inconvenient than waiting for something to be delivered but over the last few weeks, since their return from Halla and the run-in with the human form replicators, he would pretty much do anything to help bridge what he felt was the ever-expanding chasm between them. He had been right in his decision to leave Fifth behind and while he was confident the military part of Carter understood and approved, the other side of her—he refused to call it the ‘human’ side—hadn’t been so sure. 

While it occasionally angered him and always confused him, that aspect of her personality was a part of her that he valued and even though he had voiced his displeasure, he counted on the balance she brought to the team.

“Not a problem. Just tell me when.”

The smile that filled her face was almost reward enough on its own and he tried not to cringe too much when he heard her say, “Hello? Between noon and six p.m. on this Friday?” Yes, I’ve got it worked out. I want to keep that delivery date.” She scribbled on a piece of paper on the desk, cradling the phone with her shoulder. “Great. See you on Friday.” 

Six hours of potential waiting for furniture? Jack didn’t sigh, keeping what he hoped was a helpful look on his face.

Sam hung up the phone then and gave him another grateful looking smile. “I really appreciate this, sir. I ordered the furniture almost six months ago,” she paused briefly, her smile turning wry. “About the same time I made the appointment at the Pentagon to use their new AI. I never dreamed it would take this long.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “I understand. What about the furniture that’s already there?” he asked, watching her as she opened one of the drawers on the worktable and fished around for something.

“Umm…I haven’t really decided I guess. It’s all still in pretty good shape. Donate it somewhere?” 

She held out a key ring with several keys dangling from it and he held out his hand, catching them when she dropped them into it. “Don’t worry about it. Just mark the pieces you want removed and we’ll take care of it.”

“We?”

“I’ll get the guys to help me. We’ll haul them off to the Goodwill or maybe the Disabled Vets.”

“Okay,” she agreed, giving him another big smile. “I really appreciate this, sir.”

“My pleasure, Carter.” He smiled and left her lab, jingling the keys while he walked. It might be a pain in the ass to wait around her house for six hours if the delivery guys took all day, but on the other hand, he could really use the brownie points it would gain him with Sam.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even though she was tired and the lightly falling rain was turning into sleet, Sam was in a good mood as she drove home from Peterson. The new AI was even better than advertised; the testing and simulations had gone better than she’d imagined. She’d really have to convince Hammond to pull some strings and get one of its sister machines at the SGC. In fact, the simulations had gone so smoothly and quickly, she’d been able to catch an earlier hop back to Peterson that afternoon, instead of having to wait for her scheduled one the next day. And after she’d seen the weather forecast detailing the huge winter storm headed towards Colorado, she’d been even more thankful one of her former flying buddies had squeezed her onto his transport. 

Turning up the defroster to high, she squinted through the windshield, the wipers leaving icy streaks in their wake; the street lights and other lights glaring off the surface of the icing streets. Slowing down when an SUV two cars ahead of her fishtailed slightly at a stop sign, Sam curbed her eagerness to get home and focused on the street ahead of her. She could take her time, and thanks to the earlier flight, she still had the entire weekend ahead of her. And to top it all off when she got home, she’d have her new furniture.

Sam smiled. Her new furniture. It had taken her several months to find exactly what she wanted and even when it had to be special ordered, she hadn’t cared, because the couch and two matching chairs were perfect for her living room. She’d wanted cloth and the pattern she’d finally found had mixed subtle shadings of green, burgundy with just the slightest hints of gold. And when she’d found the antique walnut end tables and matching coffee table two weeks ago, she knew the wait had been worth it.

The usual twenty-minute drive from Peterson to her house took almost an hour and she could feel the tension start to ease a bit in her shoulders, only to resettle in her stomach when the lights of her car illuminated a very familiar black truck still parked in front of her house. Driving slowly past, she could see the faint glow of light from the back of her house. What was Jack still doing at her house? Panic suddenly gripped her, maybe her furniture hadn’t been delivered and he was waiting to tell her in person.

Skidding a bit around the corner when she sped up, she turned down the alley and pulled in behind her house. The wind had picked up, whipping down the alley, the cold sleet biting into her exposed skin during the mere seconds it took her to walk from her car to her backdoor. The first thing that struck her as she quickly closed the door against the wind and sleet that followed her in was how quiet it was. If Jack was there, she would have expected him to have the TV on, but she couldn’t hear anything except the wind and the icy rain beating on the roof and windows.

Slipping of her coat and heels, she tugged at her tabs, undoing the top button of her blouse while she padded in her hose-clad feet toward the soft glow of light drifting out into the hallway from the living room. Peering cautiously around the corner, she let out a soft cry of delight when she saw her two new chairs framing the fireplace. They looked even more perfect than she remembered. Forgetting her concern about Jack’s whereabouts for the moment, Sam made a beeline across the room and stroked the fabric on the closest chair. It was soft and plush, just like she remembered, the colors deep and vibrant. 

Lost in admiration of her new chairs, it was a moment before she realized she wasn’t alone in the room. The low snuffle and slightly heavy breathing behind her alerted her to another presence—she’d found Jack. Turning around, she could only shake her head when she saw him sprawled out on her new couch, fast asleep. Catching him asleep and off-guard like this made her heart do a little flip. 

He was lying on his side, dressed casually in jeans and a dark green shirt that actually matched her new furniture, and at least he had his shoes off, she noted. His silver hair looked even hotter—if that was possible—against the dark upholstery. He was so handsome, even if his mouth was open and he was snoring slightly. Thank goodness she’d had everything sprayed with Scotch Guard because if he was drooling on her new couch…. 

Jack continued to sleep and while she was loath to wake him, the weather was only getting worse. She wasn’t sure what had motivated him to do this favor for her, or why she had accepted, but she was glad she had. Maybe things would finally start to get back to normal now—or maybe even better than normal. If she wasn’t so tired, she thought she could probably just watch him sleep all night. But while it might be a wildly romantic fantasy to have him stranded at her house because of the storm, she was way too exhausted from her long day to do more than just imagine the possibilities. 

Sighing softly, she took one long, last lingering look and reached out, gently touching his shoulder. “Sir?”

He didn’t move. Sam shook him a little harder. “Colonel?” That got a reaction from him, if you could call the low murmur he made and way he seemed to sink deeper into the cushions a reaction. Almost against her will, her hand left his shoulder and ruffled through his hair and she murmured, “Jack?”

That got a reaction; he rolled to his back, his eyes slowly opening. His expression was open and unguarded for a few precious moments and what she saw in them made her wish she wasn’t so tired and they were going to spend the weekend snuggled together on her new couch. “Hey,” he said, his voice husky from sleep.

“Hey.” She stepped back while he sat up. “I didn’t think you’d still be here. What time did they deliver the furniture?”

He stretched and then reached for his shoes, slipping them on before answering. “Around five, I guess. Right before it started to rain.”

“Sleeting now.”

“Ah, lovely.” Jack stood up, looking around the room, that endearingly vague expression on his face.

Sam smiled slightly and walked over to the second of her new chairs. “Here,” she said, picking up his leather jacket and holding it out to him.

“Thanks.” He gave her what she thought was a hopeful look. “So…I guess I’ll be going?” 

Stifling a yawn, she smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. Its been a long day.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Jack said. He started towards the door and she trailed after him, switching the hall light on. “How’d it go with the super computer?”

She was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear all the gory, technical details so she gave him the short answer. “Yeah, real good. They should have all the upgrades finished this weekend.”

“Excellent.” 

He was already at the front door and when he reached for the door knob, she laid her hand on his arm. His eyes met hers and for one crazy moment she was tempted to ask him to stay, but she didn’t. “Thanks again, sir,” she said. “I really appreciate you giving up your afternoon for me.”

“My pleasure, Carter,” he replied, his lips curving in a slow smile that made her knees wobbly. “Maybe I’ll get to fall asleep on your couch again sometime.”

The cold air rushed in when he opened the door and she suddenly decided to give into one last crazy desire. Clutching at the collar of his jacket, she pressed close and brushed her lips fleetingly against his cheek. “Anytime,” she whispered against his cheek, the slight stubble making her lips tingle before she released him. His dark eyes flashed with suppressed desire and he grinned before heading out into the night, tugging his collar up higher.

Sam watched him from the open door, feeling warm in spite of the sleet and wind whirling around her. She returned his wave when he disappeared into the truck and waited until his truck pulled away before she finally closed the door and headed back to her living room. Feeling slightly giddy—from either hunger, fatigue or something else she wasn’t sure she wanted to name—Sam sat down on her beautiful new couch and grinned, certain she could still feel the warmth from Jack’s body—and his eyes. 

The End

 

Stuck on You

 _This office wasn’t so bad_ , Jack decided, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back in the comfy leather chair. Of course, given that he was usually on the other side of the desk instead of behind it might account for his change of attitude. _Yes_ , he thought, slowly rotating the chair and admiring the expansive desk, the matching credenza and book shelves, not to mention the chair, he might actually make use of an office if he had one like this.

Oh, he knew he had an office, if you could call the cubbyhole he shared with Reynolds, and whatever Colonel of the month happened to be rotating through the SGC, an office. Once more leaning back in the chair, Jack rested his feet—very carefully—on a corner of the desk. Reynolds didn’t seem to mind their shared office, his corner of the dreary room sporting pictures of his family, awards and various other bric-a-brac. 

Reynolds even seemed to enjoy sitting at his battered old desk and doing paperwork, the mere thought of which made Jack shudder. He understood any good bureaucracy ran on paperwork, and he was thankful for General Hammond, who bore the brunt of that bureaucracy. And curiously enough, in the way of bureaucracies, his paperwork always managed to find him; generally delivered to him by an always rather gleeful Sergeant Harriman or by Sam—who usually frowned.

Speaking of paperwork…Jack cast a baleful eye at the stack of papers and manila folders resting in Hammond’s in-box. He knew for a fact the box had been empty when the general had left the day before, bound for DC and the appropriations hearing, which could only mean either Walter or Sam had snuck into the office during the night and put all of his overdue paperwork in the office. Well, he wasn’t going to worry about that now. Hammond was supposed to be gone for several days, he had plenty of time. 

Dropping his feet from the desk, Jack once more swiveled around, stopping when the model of an F-104 Starfighter on one of the lower bookshelves caught his eye. Scooting the chair closer, and admiring how nicely it rolled on its wheels as compared to the chair in his office, Jack picked up the small model—base and all. 

The F-104 model was excellent, the detail was…well…detailed. Rising slightly from the chair, Jack made some vrooming noises and began flying the small plane around the eagle perched on the credenza. Only momentarily entertained by the distraction, Jack guided the small plane in for a landing.

“Crap.” Just as he glided the Starfighter in for a landing, the base supporting the model broke off in his hand, bouncing off the eagle and clattering onto the floor.

“Is something wrong, sir?” Walter’s bald head appeared around the open office door that led into the briefing room.

Jumping up, Jack quickly hid the plane behind his back, surreptitiously nudging the stand out of sight beneath the desk. Adopting a casual pose and an innocent look, he replied, “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

Walter looked nonplussed for a second and then mumbled, “I thought I heard something.”  
Jack didn’t say anything, waiting the other man out, and Walter finally gave up. “Sorry to have bothered you, sir. Just call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Jack replied, “I’ll call.” Once Walter was safely out of sight, Jack quickly closed the door and lowered the blinds of the window. With the office secure, Jack reached under the desk and grabbed the broken base. 

Sitting back down in the not so comfortable anymore chair behind the fancy, big desk, Jack looked at the two model pieces he held in his hands. Maybe they snapped together. “Well, crap,” he muttered, trying to force to the two pieces together without success. It looked like that plan wasn’t going to work. He was going to need some glue.

Glue…he tried opening the desk drawers, only that wily dog Hammond had all of them locked, except for the middle one—and all it held were assorted pens, pencils, paper clips and post-it notes. Sliding the drawer shut, Jack sat back in the chair. Who would have some super glue? Or even some good old Elmer’s?

Walter was the first person to come to mind but Jack quickly discarded that idea. Now way could he explain the broken model to the sergeant when he’d already declared there was no problem. Who could help him…wait, of course. Who always bailed his ass out of trouble? Picking up the red phone he very carefully dialed the extension he wanted—he didn’t want to get the President by mistake. Thank god, after four rings he heard that beautiful voice.

_“Carter.”_

“Sam,” he whispered, “you’ve got to help me.”

_“Sir?”_

He could hear the question—and confusion—in her voice.

“It’s me, O’Neill,” he hissed. “Do you have any super glue?”

There was a long, long pause and he could just imagine the look on her face.

_“Why do you need super glue?”_

“Carter, it doesn’t really matter why I need it, it just matters that I need it.”

Her heavy sigh was very audible. _“Where are you?”_

“Hammond’s office.”

 _“What have you done?”_ There was a distinct hint of panic in her voice now.

“Never mind!” Jack whispered loudly, fighting down his own panic. “Just get up her with that glue!”

_“Yes, sir.”_

Jack hung up the phone. _Way to go_ , he thought morosely, staring at the broken model bits. Get all pissy with her just when things seemed to be going their way again. His subsequent sigh rivaled the one he’d heard from her. They just couldn’t get a break lately, what with the whole Kinsey fiasco, not to mention the Maybourne debacle. It seemed for every step he took closer to Carter, he somehow ended up two steps behind. He figured it was reaching the point where he was going to have to take some drastic action—after he got the model glued back together.

Five exceedingly long minutes later, there was a discreet knock at the hallway door. Leaving the broken pieces of model on the desk, Jack jumped up and went to the door, whispering low, “Who is it?”

He was sure he heard a sigh, but then he heard her infinitely reassuring voice. “It’s me, sir.”

Jack opened the door just enough for her squeeze in. “Quick, quick,” he ordered, shooing her in and then with one last look both ways down the empty hall, he closed and locked the door. Sam stood by the desk, a very perplexed look on her face and small tube of super glue clutched in one hand. 

“What did you break?”

Direct and to the point—most of the time—and thank goodness this was one of those times. He didn’t say anything, merely pointed to the forlorn looking F-104 model, lying sadly on the blotter, next to its stand. She huffed a bit and shook her head, picking up the two pieces.

“Careful!” he admonished, which earned him a look.

“Do you want my help?”

“Yes, yes. Sorry,” he quickly replied, not entirely sure she wouldn’t abandon him to his fate. The last time he’d tried to glue something together with super glue all he’d managed to do was glue his fingers together—not a pleasant memory.

“Sit down,” she said.

Jack hurriedly sat down in the big chair, perched right on the edge, and watched while she bent low over the desk and carefully applied several drops of the sticky stuff to the base and then skillfully settled the small plane onto it. “Hold this,” she instructed. 

He aligned his hands with hers, trying hard to concentrate and ignore the secret thrill he got when their fingers touched. _Good grief, but he was pathetic_ , he decided, taking a quick whiff of her hair before she could realize what he was doing. 

“Okay,” she said, removing her hands and much to his dismay, straightening up. “Just hold the pieces in place for ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?” No way could he sit still that long.

“If you want the glue to hold….”

“I thought it was super glue?” he protested, yet still careful to keep the model pieces in place.

“It is,” she explained, putting the cap back on the tube. “But it still needs to set. Unless,” she added, “you want to explain to Hammond….”

“No, no!” She had him there. No way did he ever want to explain this to Hammond. She started towards the door and he put on his most pathetic face. “Sam? I owe you one.”

She smiled and Jack saw something wild and slightly dangerous in her eyes. Trapped, he could do nothing but grin like an idiot when she leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “You bet you do.”

 

More Than Friends

Sam attacked the poor hedge along the east side of her yard with renewed vigor, her electric hedge clippers making fast and devastating work of the overgrown shrubbery. After several minutes of unrestrained hedge clipping, she whacked off one last unsuspecting limb and figured it was time to stop and check her work. Powering down the clippers, she stepped back and felt a momentary twinge at the devastation she’d wrought. Her hedge lines were straight but the poor shrubs had been clipped within an inch of their lives. 

Sam wiped her forehead with the back of her arm. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to take her frustrations out on her Yews. It wasn’t her shrubs fault that Jack O’Neill choked on the big one.

Friends, what was so hard about that? Sam turned to the junipers that grew on either side of her front porch. You would have though Skaara had asked him if they were sleeping together rather than would they come to his wedding together. _Men,_ she fumed, and turned the hedge clippers back on, enjoying the snarl of the engine. _If she only had a chain saw_ , she thought longingly, whacking through the unsuspecting junipers.

Why was it so hard? She’d all but told him—on more than one occasion—that she was ready. Ready to do it…take the next step…make the plunge…hell, go all the freaking way. She hacked off some more of the juniper, the aromatic scent of the foliage and berries heavy in the hot air, leaves and twigs scattered around her. Panting, she abruptly stopped when she realized there was barely anything left of the innocent plant. She had to get a grip. Focusing, she concentrated on trimming the other bushes, forcing her thoughts of Jack O’Neill and his pigheadedness as far to the periphery as she could.

Finishing with the junipers—which thankfully didn’t look too lopsided, she moved to the other side of the porch. Throttling up the trimmer, she paused by the steps when she heard the low growl of an engine and a very familiar looking black pick-up pulled up in front of her house. 

Great. What was he doing here? 

It was Saturday, she was dressed in her grubbiest jeans and T-shirt, wearing an old pair of her combat boots. She hadn’t washed her hair that morning, she was sweaty and sticky, bits of leaves and twigs clinging to her. She watched, waiting until he opened the door and got out, sparing him half a look before turning her back and oh so carefully starting work on the matching set of junipers on the other side of the porch. Even over the noise of the trimmer, she was sure she could hear his approach.

“Sam!”

She ignored him, finishing off one particularly annoying branch with a flourish. 

“Sam!”

He sounded irritated now and she didn’t care—but she did shut off the clippers. Turning, she glared at him. “What?”

The slightly taken aback look that flashed across his face was momentarily satisfying. She wasn’t going to roll over on this one—whatever it was.

“I…ah….” He seemed at a genuine loss for words and she could feel herself start to soften—until he finished the sentence. “I thought you might need to talk.”

Her eyes narrowed and she held the hedge trimmers poised between them like a weapon. “About what?”

He shrugged, shifting his feet and looking uncomfortable. “About Skaara, Abydos…you know.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she lied, knowing full what he meant.

He frowned briefly and she had to give him some credit when he forged on. “About the whole wedding thing.”

“Oh that,” she replied airily. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that now, do you? There won’t be any wedding to go to as friends.” She all but spat the out the offensive word.

“Sam,” he protested, just the slightest hint of hurt and confusion in his eyes. “You know I think of you as a friend.”

She sighed. And here she though he might have finally gotten it. “And that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

His usually endearing look of confusing increased. “You don’t want to be friends?”

There were days when Sam wished she’d never met Jack O’Neill and this was turning into one of them. How could someone so smart be so dumb? She’d tried subtle, she’d tried cute, maybe it was time to go with direct.

Tossing the hedge clippers down on the grass, she grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “No, dammit,” she growled, “I don’t want to be friends.” And then she proceeded to plant a big kiss right on his lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To say Jack was stunned would be the understatement of the century, perhaps even of this millennium. She had him so off balance—a sensation to which he was not accustomed—he didn’t know which what to think. But his body knew exactly what to do, his lips molding to hers, his arms closing around her and pulling her tight against his chest. Which didn’t seem quite close enough for Sam, the way she clung to him and pressed herself even closer. She smelled like sweat and gin berries and he knew he’d forever associate those scents with the moment Sam Carter had jumped his bones.

Fast on his way to oblivion, the blaring of a car horn jerked Jack back to reality. Being kissed by Carter was good; getting groped by Carter was also good; what was not so good was being kissed and groped by Carter on her front lawn in front of all her neighbors and anybody driving down the street.

Grabbing a hand that was already working its way under his shirt and heading dangerously close to the waistband of his jeans, Jack pulled his mouth from hers. “Carter,” he hissed. “Not here.” Seemingly undeterred, she kept pressing hot kisses along his jaw, the hand he wasn’t holding now following the earlier route of its mate.

Jack was faced with a decision he’d wrestled with on more than one occasion—to give into his desire and deep attraction for Carter or do what he usually did—ignore it. But then and there, on Sam Carter’s front lawn with the hot sun beating down on them, he had a moment of unexpected clarity, a vision of his possible futures spread out before him, one with Carter and one without her. The decision was obvious.

The feeling of peace that settled over Jack blended quite easily with the passion currently riding him hard. Trusting in her reflexes, he started walking, pulling her along behind him, up the steps, across the porch and—thankfully—through her unlocked front door and into her house. It was dark and cool in the foyer, and after the heat and bright sun, he felt momentarily disoriented, a weakness that she immediately took advantage of, pressing him back up against the wall, her mouth once more hungry and demanding on his.

Indoors was good and the kissing was even better than any of his wildest dreams. And now that there weren’t other distractions, Jack could concentrate on the woman in his arms. When she nipped lightly at his lower lip, he obediently opened his mouth, her tongue sweeping into his mouth, teasing and tempting him with each sweet touch. He thought hazily that he could go on kissing her indefinitely, content to kiss her and slowly explore the soft skin he discovered beneath her T-shirt. 

When her mouth eventually left his, Jack didn’t protest, instead trailing his mouth in a series of leisurely kisses down her throat, his hands tugging at her T-shirt. Nuzzling her neck, his senses were once again assailed by the faint scent of juniper and sweat. He had just managed to get her T-shirt worked up to under her arms when she suddenly slipped out of his arms. 

“Sam,” he groaned, reaching for her. 

Her lips curved in a sultry smile and she took his hands, slowly backing down the hallway and pulling him along. “Not here.”

“What?” Jack rumbled, his thoughts in hazy confusion. If not here, then where? They were in her house, for crying out loud. “Where?” he finally managed to ask, still shuffling along after her. 

“Bed.”

**The End**


End file.
